Chapter 1 EVERYONE'S CRUSH.

CASEY.

I held the lemon-green box tightly against my chest as I walked through the echoing hallways of the school, the subtle aroma of fresh muffins blending with the musty scent of old gym bags and polished floors.

My sneakers squeaked softly with each step, and I could feel the hockey boots shifting inside the gift box. I smoothed down my sweater, hugging the box a bit closer.

For an entire year, I saved every spare cent—skipping lunches, picking up extra shifts at the campus café, even selling that old bracelet my aunt gave me. It wasn't much, but I was able to buy the boots he had been wanting from last season's catalog.

And the muffins?

I had burned three batches before finally getting these right: chocolate chip with just a hint of vanilla.

Would he even notice the effort?

A small smile crept onto my lips.

He had to be touched, right?

Even just a little?

The hallway stretched ahead, adorned with faded posters for upcoming games and club sign-ups.

Students walked by in small groups, laughing about their weekend plans and future matches, but their voices faded into the background.

My focus remained on the hallway ahead, leading to the locker room at its end.

I adjusted my glasses and swallowed hard; my palms were already sweaty. It was ridiculous. I had envisioned this moment so many times that it should have felt easy by now—but it didn’t. Not even close.

Ethan Blake.

Just thinking of his name sent a flutter through my stomach. He was the most popular guy on campus—tall, with an effortless confidence in his stride, dark hair always perfectly tousled from practice, and eyes that could hold you captive.

He was the captain of the hockey team. Perfect. Everyone’s dream. He was my dream since middle school.

Back then, he scored the winning goal in that first big game I watched from the bleachers, and something just clicked for me. I followed his games closely, memorized his stats, and even doodled his jersey number in the margins of my notebooks.

He never really paid attention to me, though—not in the way I wanted him to.

But that was fine.

Guys like him were busy—practices, parties, and a constant swarm of girls following him around.

Rich kids could be like that sometimes—somewhat distant.

It didn't mean anything bad.

At least when he did notice me, it felt significant—like last semester when he snapped at me in the library for taking too long at the printer near his table: "Move it, four-eyes," he'd muttered without even looking up from his phone.

I blushed and apologized, my heart racing not out of fear but simply because he had spoken to me at all."

Sure, it stung a little, but he was under pressure—captain duties and all. I often replayed those moments in my mind. He didn't see me as just some nobody; he simply hadn't had the chance to get to know me yet.

As I rounded the corner toward the hockey team lockers, the noise from the rink grew louder—guys joking around, the clatter of sticks and pads echoing in the background. My palms felt clammy around the box.

I'd wrapped the boots meticulously, layering tissue paper inside the cloth bag and tucking a birthday card that I had penned with a trembling hand in my neatest handwriting in a corner.

The bow on top was a soft ribbon I’d found on sale, perfectly matching his favorite color: green. I'd overheard him mention it once during a team huddle, and it stuck with me.

Embarrassing. A little pathetic, maybe. But I couldn't help it.

When you cared about someone for that long, details stuck.

What if he didn’t like the muffins?

They were homemade, nothing fancy like what his family probably ordered from bakeries—but they were made with care. I spent an entire week testing recipes, adjusting the sugar to ensure they weren’t too dense. He would appreciate that, even if just a little.

My smile widened at the thought of his face lighting up, maybe even hearing a genuine "Thanks, Casey" slip out.

 It would be the beginning of something new.

Finally approaching him after all these years felt like jumping off a cliff, but my courage had built up slowly. This was my moment.

My pulse jumped.

The locker room door came into view, slightly ajar.

 I paused just outside to adjust my glasses again and willed my breathing to steady as my heart raced against my ribs. At that moment, I wanted to turn back because I no longer felt brave enough.

But my crush on him was strong.

I took a deep breath and peered around to make sure there was no one nearby—or at least very few people.

 I stood there staring at it.

This was it.

No more daydreams. No more imaginary conversations. No more practicing speeches in front of the bathroom mirror.

The real thing.

I took a deep breath and shifted the box higher in my arms.

My hands were shaking.

"Okay," I whispered to myself.

The word came out thinner than I intended.

I knocked lightly against the door.

No answer.

After a brief hesitation, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Cool air brushed against my skin.

The familiar scent of sports equipment, sweat, and cleaning supplies lingered throughout the room.

And there he was, alone, standing beside his locker. He looked even better up close, broad shoulders under his practice jersey, that effortless aura making the whole space feel smaller.

My entire body forgot how to function. Every speech I'd rehearsed vanished. All I could do was stare.

He turned at the sound of my entrance, his brows furrowing in confusion as he straightened up from whatever he'd been sorting in his bag.

His eyes flicked over me, not quite focusing.

A faint ache flickered in my chest, but I brushed it aside; this wasn’t the time for doubt.

I willed my feet to move forward—one step, then another.

The gift box felt heavier than before in my hands, and my heart pounded against my ribs so fiercely that I was sure he could hear it.

He watched me approach, waiting patiently.

I stopped in front of him, close enough to notice how his eyes fell on the box I held.

My fingers tightened around the ribbon as doubt threatened to overwhelm me for a brief moment—almost losing my nerve—but then I lifted the gift toward him with a shy smile breaking across my face.

"Happy birthday, Ethan," I mumbled looking down.

I waited as Ethan stared at the box before shifting his gaze from the ribbon to the card tucked beneath it and then back to me again.

Silence stretched between us, making my smile falter as anxiety settled in my stomach.

His expression transformed from confusion to annoyance to disgust.

He looked back at the box in my hands with a curled upper lip and asked, "What the hell is this?"